


What's in a Word

by Efflorescent



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Destiel - Freeform, Love, M/M, One-Shot
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-01-09
Updated: 2014-01-09
Packaged: 2018-01-08 02:38:54
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,105
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1127358
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Efflorescent/pseuds/Efflorescent
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Dean is not a man of many words. Feelings and the like can stay in the novels and movies. Let Ryan Gosling or Channing What'shisface handle crap like that. But there's this thing his heart keeps doing and he needs to find a word for it. But of course Google isn't helping and neither is the cause of his problem: Castiel. Destiel.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What's in a Word

**Author's Note:**

> This is a little something I wrote while I was bored. Haven't written in a while (too busy with class), but I really wanted to write something! If enough people like some of my stuff, maybe I'll try and write more! Feel free to follow me on[ Tumblr](http://little-spn-obsessed.tumblr.com/)!

****

 

 **Disclaimer:**  I obviously don't own Supernatural or Destiel would have been canon season 4 episode 2.

 **Timeline:**  Not 100% sure when this story takes place. I'm thinking around mid-lateish season 8? Obviously after  _As Time Goes By_.

* * *

**What's in a Word?**

 

There were plenty of words to use for it. Hell, that's the reason Dean is using the computer in the first place. Most of the time, the Bunker was like Batman's utility belt; revealing the crap they need just when they need it. But of all the conveniently accessible shark-repellenty objects in the place it didn't have one thing: A fucking _thesaurus._  An entire book on the mating habits of werewolves – yes, it was the first book that Dean read in the Bunker -, but not a single book to show another word for 'priorities' because seriously? How can the Men of LETTERS find when werewolves are horny more important than another, less obvious-that-I-got-my-GED word for "horny"!? But, whatever. That's why he needed Sam's laptop.

At this point in the game, Dean was more so looking up the definitions of the synonyms for the word because let's be honest; words shouldn't be, like, 10 syllables long and what the actual fuck does 'monoclinous' mean?! Isn't that the kissing disease? He absently scratched at the back of his head, teasing the dry follicles before glancing at the research tab that Sam still had open in the browser. He and Sam had been on this hunt for about 4 days now. Not long, but long enough. It hadn't started off great. Sam got bitchy because Dean delayed them an extra hour looking for a  _fucking thesaurus,_  which wouldn't have annoyed his kid brother if Dean would have been willing to tell him what he was tearing the place up for. But telling Sam  _what_  he was looking for would mean he'd have to tell Sam  _why_  he was looking for it. Or worse. Dean would tell Sam and Sam  _wouldn't_  ask which, knowing his brother, meant that Sam already  _knew_  why he was looking for it. Which pissed Dean off because he wasn't even 100% sure why he was looking for it. Okay. He knew  _why_  in broad terms, but not the deep-down-below-the-surface-what's-in-your-heart-of-hearts-Nicholas-Sparks-level-of-goopeyness why. And that frustrated Dean. Which in turn frustrated Sam. Which in turn made them bicker and end with Sam storming off, basically vaulting towards the door, ranting about buying some Tampax, and leaving Dean to fume. So yeah, not long, but long enough.

After about 2 hours of half-hearted research and a good amount of time spent Googling different words, Dean decided to throw in the towel. He - what's another word for it -  _Conceded, capitulated, yielded._  He gave up. He leaned back into the chair, ignoring its whining protest as he cracked his back over the top only to let out a surprised yelp at the very object of his trouble. Well… sort of. Castiel stood, assessing Dean with a cocked head, covered in a ridiculous –  _nonsensical_  – amount of dirt, mud, grass, and what smelled like human shit.

"Dear GOD!" Dean propelled to the side to avoid the table and get as far away from Castiel as possible. "What the hell happened to you, man? You're walkin' around like the Creature from the Black Lagoon just popping up! Why the hell are you so gross?" Dean's face scrunched at the stench wafting from Castiel's clothes. As Castiel took a step forward, opening his mouth as if to reply, Dean moved back a step. Castiel soundlessly closed his mouth and continued the game of negative and negative magnets before standing completely still and straightening his back, an action that Dean unintentionally mimicked.

"I appear to have sullied my vessel." Was Castiel's deciding opener.

"Yeah, no shit," Dean immediately replied, pinching his nostrils to protect them from the assault.

"No, I do believe that I may have fallen into excrement," Castiel replied, lifting his arms and looking at his sleeves and front as if providing evidence.

"I can smell that. Jesus Christ, man, why do you smell like you just broke out of Shawshank?" Dean wanted to step closer to see whether or not the pseudo-Angel had any actual injuries, but he might as well give that up because each step closer made his eyes water all the more. Castiel huffed and let his arms drop to his sides, allowing his trench coat to spew some of the gunk –  _sediment_  – into the air to pollute Dean's breathing space.

"I assume you're referring to my disagreeable scent," Castiel started, cocking his head slightly in more irritation than confusion. "I had taken flight to find one of my brothers, only to falter and fall into a… what I can assume is some sort of outdoor toilet." Castiel shifted his gaze to the floor.

"You fell  _in_  a port-a-potty? How the hell'd ya manage that, Cas?" Dean was more interested and confused -  _perplexed_  - than grossed out at the moment.

"It was not an outhouse of that sort. I managed to make it to India before I felt my wings give out. I believe I was in an area lacking indoor plumbing and conventional alternatives." Castiel nodded at his short –  _succinct_  – summary of his story.

"You… you fell into a make-shift outdoor latrine in INDIA? How the hell are you  _here_  then? Didn't you have to wait for you mojo to come back or someth- did you let that shit ferment before coming here, Slumdog Millionaire?!" Dean leaned back slightly, almost imagining mushrooms popping out of Cas's clothes. Castiel was silent for a moment. Dean wasn't sure if he was debating questioning the reference or thinking up what to say next.

"…. I… my power is dwindling. I had to wait a day to gather the strength to…" Castiel faltered helplessly, pulling for words and drawing back empty hands. He looked down slightly, not meeting Dean's eyes. The room stood silent for a moment, offering the pair a moment before Dean spoke again.

"Dude. You can use our shower. There's some shampoo and soap already in there. Put your clothes uhh," Dean looked around and found a bag the hotel uses when offering dry cleaning services, "Just put your clothes in here and I'll get 'em… burned" Dean added the last part after Castiel had removed his tie and reached for the bag. He gave Dean a pained look as he stopped halfway from removing his soiled trench coat before Dean amended. "Ok. We'll hose them off and run them through the washed a few dozen times." Castiel, pleased with this plan –  _proposal_  -, shrugged off the his coat, unbuttoned and removed his shirt and began undoing his pants before Dean caught him.

"Uhh. You can finish in the bathroom. I'm gonna go grab a couple of towels from the front desk and you just leave the bag on the floor and go… cleanse yourself or whatever." Dean waved his hand in front of Castiel's entire body. Castiel nodded in understanding.

"Thank you, Dean." He offered Dean a rare smile that made Dean remember the damn thesaurus problem –  _DILEMA_  – all too clearly and suddenly. His own heart beat suddenly became more noticeable. He returned Castiel's smile and all but dashed for the door. They had probably 4 towels in the bathroom right now, but judging from Castiel's state, those things were gonna have to be incinerated, so it wasn't a total lie when Dean had said it. Walking there and back took a grand total of six minutes. He opened the door slowly on the off chance Castiel was still scraping his clothes off, but walked in less hesitantly when he heard the shower running.

"Thank God," he whispered under his breath. He didn't get it. It was just so hard breathing with Cas in the room. And it wasn't even scent related. Every time Castiel would look at him with that confused expression when he spoke about anything pop-culture related, anytime he smiled and his eyes crinkled around the outside, the way he said Dean's name, the way Cas could be really funny both intentionally and unintentionally, the way he sometimes liked to play with his fingers. It was a long ass list of things that impaired Dean's breathing and made his heart hurt. Like each of these little things were just sitting on his chest all of the time. If felt like downright assault when Castiel would be in the same room as him, puncturing his lungs with each long stare, each reassuring touch, and each understanding look. It was getting ridiculous. There were many words to describe Dean: Hunter, brother, ladies man, dense, strong-willed, stubborn, caring, blah blah blah. Hell, there were many words to say what Cas did  _for_ Dean, but not a single word for what the trench coat wearing, socially inept angel did  _to_ him. And apparently Googling the symptoms brought him endlessly to one word to describe Dean's dilemma: Bisexual.

Basically all the world's information stored into one search engine, and that's the only conclusion that he keeps finding. So  _hell no_  and screw Google. Dean Winchester was  _not_  bisexual. He likes women. He likes breasts and thighs, and long hair, and cute giggles. He knows this, but there's a part of him that finds himself thinking and looking at a man with two-day-old five o'clock shadow and immediately wondering what Cas is doing. There's a part of him that walks down a street and sees two blue shirts in a window and doesn't differentiate the shades with words like "light" and "dark" but rather "blue" and " _Cas_  blue." There's a part of him that knows it's a slight attraction to the angel. He can appreciate when another man is good-looking, I mean, he's not blind. But he's not  _bi_. He's only slightly sort of kinda attracted to the  _one_  guy. But apparently dictionaries, Google, and online thesauruses don't have a word for it that isn't bi. Dean looks up the synonyms again for the better part of thirty minutes. He's so caught up –  _engrossed_  – that he doesn't even hear the shower shut off or the bathroom door open.

"Gynandrous?" his face twists like the words had a bad taste coming out. "What the hell is that? Isn't that a Pokémon or something?"

Dean leans closer to the screen to inspect the word, waiting for it to explain itself.

"Gynandrous is of Greek origin. Stemming from  _gynē_ meaning 'woman' and  _andr- or anēr_ meaning 'man'. It refers to a flower having both stamens and pistils united in a single column." Castiel was suddenly behind Dean much similar to when he first arrived and Dean's reaction this time around wasn't much different. He flailed to the side before stumbling further upon realizing that Castiel was in nothing but a towel.

"I… wh-… how the hell do you even know that? They offer Botany 101 in Heaven?" Dean decided on a single question.

"Dean." Cas's voice immediately sounding admonishing. "I have been around for quite some time. I speak every language known to man. Knowing a miniscule amount of information should not be a surprise to you considering how long we have been together." Castiel's eyes shown with what Dean could only define as amusement. "I know many things, Dean Winchester," Castiel continued, "I do  _not_ , however, know why you are researching synonyms for 'bisexual'." Castiel shifted his eyes away from Dean and towards the computer screen. Dean immediately turned a deep shade of red –  _scarlet_ – and floundered helplessly before vaulting towards the laptop and slamming it with a force that would put a crack in a less abused machine.

"I wasn't- there was- I was – uhhh" Dean began three unsuccessful sentences before flat lining completely. Years of professionally lying and he couldn't come up with a single, plausible thing. Screw it. "It's for the case we're on?" His voice elevated at the end, making his statement into a question and making him want to punch a hole through the wall as an escape route. Castiel stepped closer, still wet and fresh, tilting his head as his eyes wandered from Dean's eyes to his chest. He slowly raised his right hand – incidentally the one that was holding his towel up – and brought it closer to Dean's chest. Dean had never felt the gripping fear like he had at that moment. Like his blood was made of needles. It was not the kind of adrenaline-fueled fear from a hunt, but the fear he got when he'd screw up in school and have to sit in class the rest of the day thinking about how much trouble he would be in once he got home. As Castiel's hand gently rests above Dean's heart, Cas's eyes shift back towards Dean's. Dean looked from Cas's hand and to his lips twice before settling on looking Castiel in his - goddamn why are they so blue - eyes.

"Your heart. The rhythm is off. It's beating quite irregularly, but you are not unwell." Castiel stepped closer, eyes as scrutinizing as an appraiser assessing a diamond. Dean's breath stuttered as he felt the water from Castiel's hand slightly soak through his shirt.

"It's nothing. Uhhh. You just startled me when I was-" Dean was cut off as Castiel took another step closer.

"There it is again. The rhythm. Why is it doing that?" Castiel gave Dean a look that he couldn't place. It was searching and felt borderline assaulting like he was looking into the depths of Dean's subconscious. But the way he phrased the question bothered him even more. His question had a similar inflection that his father would use when he knew an answer, but was asking to make sure Dean knew.

" _Dean, what's a way to kill a shapshifter?"_  Dean could hear his father's voice in the back of his head. He knew this. Silver through the heart. That he's sure of. Why his heart doing this weird beating -  _palpitation_  – thing, though? That he wasn't so sure of. Hell, he was even looking it up. But just like usual, Cas has an insight into something Dean  _doesn't_. Which is what more than likely prompted his stupid response.

"I dunno, Cas. Why don't you tell me?" Dean looked at Castiel's lips and unconsciously licked his own before his eyes trailed down to the towel that had slightly slipped down Castiel's narrow hips.

Dean expected many things. He expected Castiel to surprise him when he entered. He expected Sam to give shocked looks whenever he said something intelligent. In regards to this though, he expected Castiel to give him some Dr. Sexy, M.D. clinical diagnosis for why his heart was beating this way. He would have even expected Castiel to bring  _diagrams_  before the events that actually unfolded. Like he said. He expected many things. He did  _not_ , however, expect Castiel to kiss him. He did  _not_  expect Castiel to pull his waist towards closer so they could share in a kiss of their own. He did  _not_  expect himself to almost immediately return the kiss either.  _Surprised, aroused, confused, wound-up, excited_. There were plenty of words for  _what_  Dean was feeling right now. But now, apparently as per the course of his life, there were no words for  _why_  he was feeling like this.

It was the ocean-scented body wash. It was an oddly stunning strawberry flavored candy. It was the physical transcendence of everything life had to offer and Dean couldn't put what he felt into any other words. It was this annoying lack of… what's the word…  _articulation_  that frustrates Dean endlessly. Like the fact that he knows what snow smells like, but can't describe its taste for some reason (he knows it's just water, but it doesn't TASTE like water). It's like how he knows exactly where to shoot a beer can so that the impact of the bullet causes the can to knock over the others, but couldn't walk Sam through how to do it without his father's help. It's something he  _knows_  but can't  _say._  And this Castiel kissing him, breathing LIFE into him, kind of scared Dean. It almost amazed –  _confounded_  – Dean; it's like it wasn't real. Because ocean-scented body wash was standard in nearly every hotel. Strawberry flavored candy was in the dish at the front desk. But the culmination of these real things into this one wing-less angel provoked a side of Dean that he wasn't sure he was ready to face or name. This raven-haired man with the defining blue eyes and trench coat who kept repeatedly bringing their lips together, matching Dean's noises was not something Dean was sure was real let alone something he felt he could deal with. The pleased hums beings manhandled by the slight acoustics in the room were not supposed to warm Dean's heart and excite him the way they did when he was with a woman. They were  _not_  supposed to sound so natural and commonplace and  _right_. When Castiel pulled away, Dean felt a rumble of a whine pour out of his throat. His whines were not supposed to sound so normal and wanting; like every day requests. Like:

" _Sam, make sure you grab me some pie."_

" _Can you hand me that?"_

" _Cas, will you please love me?"_

His reactions weren't supposed to be like this. His heart wasn't supposed to do this. Cas wasn't supposed to do this to him, but here it was. Happening. And apparently he'd said that last question out loud because Castiel looked him dead in the eyes and gripped the hand that had somehow found its way to Dean's shoulder tightly.

"Dean. I have been around for quite some time," Castiel echoed his words from earlier, "and I have never felt the bond with anyone else the way that I feel it with you. I believe that I have, for some time, fulfilled that request." Castiel's eyes gave off a warmth that makes Dean's heart pump so hard he can feel it in his temples which is definitely the reason Castiel smiles at him. Which is the reason Dean thoughtlessly kisses him again. And again. And again. Because yeah. He's not a man of many words. He spent hours Googling what the hell this  _thing_  he was feeling was. He's still not satisfied with the results of that, but he's kinda found his own answer. It's pretty easy when he thinks about it now. It's just…  _LOVE_. No big labels or words with seven syllables. Not so hard. So, yeah. Maybe the Men of Letters knew what they were doing. Who the hell needs a Thesaurus anyway?

**END**

* * *

**Author's Note:**

> Well that was fun! Haha It's nice to dust off the cobwebs. I'm okay with this story. I'm thinking one-shots are more my speed, because honestly, chapter fics are just too demanding! I re-read it maybe twice before saying "meh". Hopefully you enjoyed it enough to leave a kudos or check out my other fic! Feel free to follow me on [ Tumblr](http://little-spn-obsessed.tumblr.com/)!


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